PART 2
For one breathless moment, nobody moved.
The city stretched behind Adrian Hartwell’s office windows in polished towers and distant silver light, but all I could see was his face. I had seen that face on magazine covers, charity banners, and across dinner tables where silence had sat between us like a third person. I had watched it turn cold during arguments and unreadable during negotiations.
But I had never seen it afraid.
His attorney, Mr. Lowell, recovered first. He cleared his throat and rose halfway from his chair.
“Mrs. Hartwell, this is a private legal meeting.”
I looked at him, then at the thick folder on the table with my married name printed neatly across the label.
“I know exactly what this is.”
